Cecity
by omnipotentpen
Summary: Explores what it should have been like being a living horcrux, after all a horcrux can't be destroyed by just any curse or sword. Harry tries to survive in the wizarding world after a traumatic incident in his past, with several powerful enemies now after him. Strong!Harry in a way(stronger than canon) but will have power scaling of enemies.
1. Chapter 1

**Cecity**

**Chapter One**

**AN: First time every posting on this site, first time ever writing a fanfiction, and really the first time every relaying a stream of consciousness that resembles a plot onto something that resembles paper. Any feedback that you can provide would be helpful for me, even if it is that if you have to read one work for the rest of your life that this piece barely beats out My Immortal and falls just short of suicide.**

**Oh and I don't own Harry Potter.**

They circled around him like hungry sharks, testing out the water, observing their prey till a fatal vulnerability appears. Then, they would attack. To survive you must be invulnerable, you must show no weakness. They must not know how scared you are. Fear means weakness. The sharks drift closer, their cries for blood grow louder, but no words reach his ears, just the muffled ringing of vicious syllables.

They must be able to smell fear! It barely lasts, but a panicked gleam enters his eye for a second before being submerged back into the icy depths of forced apathy. It didn't work. The sharks saw it. His facade of invulnerability is cracked, and they smell blood. The slip has given them courage, courage to test his defenses, courage to call his bluff.

A fist slammed into his stomach, driven by the maximum amount of force an overweight eight year old could call upon. He barely moved, slightly stooping to to dampen the blow. It was nothing he wasn't used to. That and the maximum force mini-me here could muster was nothing compared to what he received from the original whenever he went home.

He fought to keep a smile from breaking out on his face as the twinge of success reared in his heart. Nothing on his face betrayed the fact that he had even received the blow. His eyes pierced those of his attacker, asserting his dominance. They backed off but did not leave. He kept his eyes moving, keeping each predator in sight, dowsing them with the coldest glare he could conjure whenever one twisted a muscle in his direction. The throbbing in his chest got stronger as elation built deep inside of his core. The sharks were worried, they had tried to call his bluff but it had failed miserably. Their control of the situation was slipping and their dominance was in question. Their attempt to make him falter had only strengthened his image of invulnerability, creating a worm of doubt to grow in their hearts.

They started circling again, if a bit more cautious this time. He frowned. Something had gone wrong, sharks weren't supposed to act like this. They were the top of the food chain, not used to challenges towards their dominance. Asserting himself as their superior and as a challenge should have dissuaded them from further action and instead seek an easier target. Yet these sharks- No. They weren't sharks.

No, he was surrounded by a pack of dogs, the wild kind that roamed the grasslands of Africa. This was a serious miscalculation. He scrambled futilely through his brain trying to find a solution.

Dogs are not sharks. They are not the chiefest predator in their territory, finding instead the advantage of superior numbers to be their method of overwhelming much more powerful prey. As his eyes flickered between his opponents they widened slightly in realization. The group had lost their courage when they failed to call his bluff, but their pack instincts kept them from running. Their pack drew from the meager remains of their previous arrogance and blanketed it in the their confidence in superior numbers.

They closed in again, but this time together as a group. Caught unaware, lost in his analysis, he received a hard shove from an enemy that had circled behind him without his noticing. The sudden application of force from behind skewed his balance and sent him tumbling forward. His descent was halted by a fist catching the bottom of his nose and sending him toppling back the direction from which he came. His round glasses, held together by a meager strip of dirtied tape, were thrown from his face and landed once more in two pieces on the ground.

The rest of the gang pounced on his vulnerable form unleashing their aggression upon him, rocking his body back and forth as blows rained down from above. He didn't feel a single blow. His body felt numb and almost completely unfeeling except for the occasional clenching in his stomach when he was jerked around by a particularly powerful strike. The deluge of blows slowed to a trickle as the leader of the pack stepped up to him, his face scant inches away.

He would show nothing. The goal of this practice was not to practice for the upcoming youth lightweight boxing championship, it was to receive the rush of power and adrenaline from destroying an opponent and having him grovel on the ground before you. They would receive no pleasure from their actions as long as he continued emulating a punching bag, especially the inanimate, unfeeling, and mute qualities they possess. He gazed back unafraid unafraid, face steeled in a mask and his eyes burning with green fires of condescension.

"Nothing." The pudgy boy started slowly shaking his head but not breaking the eye contact between the two. "You do nothing. We hit you and you don't do nothing. You don't even bleed. We call you names and you don't say anything." He snarled. No response was given. This was the alpha, the leader, and if successfully cowed the rest would follow without much of a struggle.

His silence only infuriated his opponent further. "Say something freak!" He roared in a poor impersonation of his father. The eyes continued to stare into his, with such a piercing gaze it sent shivers down the boys, creating a niggling idea in the back of his head that it could peer into his soul.

"Don't look at me like that!" He felt like his body was being peeled beneath the gaze, layer after layer dissipating into atmosphere until his core was exposed to those penetrating eyes.

"Stop looking at me!" He cried, allowing notes of panic and a twinge of fear to color his voice. His defenses were crumbling before the glacial stare. In a last ditch effort to save himself he launched himself at the owner of the offending gaze. The target of the attack was caught unaware as he was completely oblivious to the other boys increasingly frantic thoughts.

They crashed to the ground, wrestling each other for control. After a momentary struggle, the group leader emerged victorious sitting astride his victim. From his advantageous position he rained blows down upon the others face, attempting to damage it beyond recognition. After a sustained thrashing, he paused his attack, blood dropping from his torn knuckles.

The boy beneath him stared back with a frigid mask of disinterest. His face showed no marks from the beating and his gaze resumed the process of opening the bully up like a particularly troublesome nut. "Those bloody eyes!" The leader shrieked as he grabbed the others face. His fingers found the eyelids and held them open. With a snarl he wrenched his victims head to the side forcing him to gaze into the glowing ball of burning helium floating in the sky.

They had found his weakness. A scream was torn from his lips as the glowing rays pierced his retina, slowly covering his vision in a blue-black nebulae. Seeing his vulnerability finally exposed the group jumped on him and held down his limbs, pinning him to the ground. He was forced to lay helpless as his eyes slowly burned. His sight had been filled with a dark cloud, perforated in some areas by glowing red rays that seared into the back on his head.

Perched over his prey the leader smiled in satisfaction from finally getting a reaction after years of attempts. The prostrate boy's screams quieted in volume as his eyes became more and more destroyed. The lack of noise caused a frown of disapproval to appear on the tormentor's face.

"His eyes are weak! Go for his eyes!" He cried to his accomplices, urging them on to commit further harm to the cowering child before them. They scrambled to positions capable of reaching the boy's eyes. Blows rained anew upon him, but this time delivering significant damage. Rigid fingers jabbed his pupils, knuckles scraped against his sclera, and finally a rock wielded by the pack leader slammed into his sockets repeatedly.

Neighbors once content with ignoring a group of children playing around felt their attention drawn to the scene when piercing shrieks reached their ears.

"Oi, clear out you little buggers." an adult sounding voice rang over the conflict. The small pack of aggressors took this as their sign to retreat, scampering off down the road to the safety of their houses where they would celebrate their victory.

A couple approached the site of the action, drawn from their house by the sounds of pain. "Robert I think there is a boy laying there."

Robert squinted his eyes as he approached the area. "I do believe that you are right." Finally reaching the part of the street where he lay they encountered a shock.

Putting a hand to her mouth the woman slowly approached his body, her gait slow with shaky breaths coming in between steps. "Bloody hell!" Robert exclaimed as he drew level with the object of their attention. Before them lay a small boy in ripped clothing, pools of blood forming in the sockets of destroyed sightless eyes and running in streaks down his face staining the grass beneath him.

"This isn't roughing around or even bloody bullying. This is a fucking assault. They coulda killed em." His face was turning red and his fists shook in barely restrained anger.

"What are we going to do Robert?" his wife questioned, face deathly pale. The sight revolted her, but she was unable to look away.

"We should get him to his parents as soon as possible. Then we need to call the police and find those little shites that did this." He bent down to a knee next to the boy and started talking quietly. "Hey there lad you're safe now. I scared off those gits. Now, can you tell me what your name is."

There was an extended pause as they both stared expectantly at the bloody visage. Right before Robert declared him unresponsive the boy turned his head towards him and croaked out something unintelligible. Leaning closer to the boy, Robert put his ears right next to his lips. "What did you say?" he questioned softly.

"Harry. Harry Potter." was the whispered reply.

"What did he say?"

"Said his name was Harry Potter." Robert replied as he stood up brushing off his pants leg.

"Isn't that the boy the Dursleys took in? Child of some disreputable family members. I heard he was always causing trouble and giving poor Petunia headaches. I wonder if this was perhaps some recompense for a crime. Maybe he stole something of theirs?"

She was fixed with a pointed glare. "Are you saying that its okay to rip an eight year old's eyes out if he stole your favorite marble? Or maybe he pranked their tree house. Mighty dangerous that, might have gotten a bruise falling out of that tree."

She quailed under the onslaught. "No of course its not okay. I was just trying to think of what could motivate children do something like this."

He huffed and turned back to the boy. "Lets get him down to the Dursleys house so they can get him to the hospital."

When the door was answered they were greeted by what appeared to be a particularly jovial walrus. "Ah Robert, Victoria, what can I do for you?"

"Hello Vernon, I'm afraid it's a bit of an emergency. We found little Harry being brutally assaulted near our house and rushed him here as soon as we found him. His eyes have had massive damage done to them, I think he may be permanently blinded."

The joviality drained drained from Vernon's face as he listened. "Bring him in, just put him on the couch."

As the pair left the house Robert appealed to Vernon. "You really must get him to the hospital. He has a very severe injury."

Vernon merely shook his hand as if deflecting the words. "We'll inspect those wounds closer and see if he really needs it. He's a real delinquent that one, faked injures before to get Dudley in trouble."

The door slammed shut leaving Robert and Victoria staring in disbelief at the door and the man behind it. The walk back was in silence. After they got home Victoria refused to leave her station by the window till she saw the Dursleys car. She finally let out a sigh of relief that resounded throughout the house when she saw Vernon fly past their house.

However, what she didn't see was that Harry Potter was not in the car and that instead of going to the hospital it was headed to a new ice cream shop for a celebration.

* * *

Harry sat silently in the darkness, resting cross legged on his bed in the tiny broom cupboard that was his bedroom. He was always in darkness, ever since _then_. Now he spent his time waiting in the darkness of his abode, in preparation of the next attack whether it be physical or mental. However for all his waiting he was not idle.

He was reminded of a spider, grown fat and lazy over the years, content to lie in its web and keep careful track of everything going on around it. His cupboard was the center of his web, its limits just reaching the edges of the Dursley's house.

He listened to his web and learned all of its rhythms. He learned to keep track of footsteps, to keep a mental marker for each individual in the house. Patterns that dictated their life became apparent, controlling individual actions that appeared random and sudden in the chaos of human choice, letting him predict his family's actions before they had even started moving. Sound, sound was the key. Often ignored in in place of the much more valued sight. Harry had no such luxury, and so he learned how important it was to listen. Harry learned much more from listening then he ever would have with his now absent vision.

He deciphered voices and gauged their footsteps, determining where people were going and what they were feeling. It was so easy to tell what they were thinking nowadays. They didn't seem to like that too much. Another demonstration of freakishness they agreed. His cupboard rattled with vibrations. Loud, thudding footsteps descended the step overhead before quickly turning and heading to his door. The pace was quick and the footsteps slammed into the ground with loud slaps. He was in a hurry today.

The door opened and a huge figure tried to squeeze into the opening. Harry could hear the wood start to creak as the frame bent to accommodate the man. The man fumbled a bit before flicking on the light switch revealing the room and its occupant. A dim bulb flickered into life, casting its glow down on the scene below.

"Petunia and I are taking Dudley out tonight to celebrate his birthday." The man started. "You are to stay in your room the whole time we are out. If we find any evidence of you using anything but the bathroom you won't get dinner for the rest of the summer." The mere thought of Harry touching something of his seemed to disgust the man, and he seemed to be working himself up into a temper despite the fact that no such offense had happened yet.

"What about dinner tonight sir?" Harry asked, wishing he could go back to his previous solitude. He colored his tone with a sliver of childlike worry, but he held no hope that it would prove to be effective.

The man snorted as if affronted. "You should be thankful enough that we give you a place to stay. We aren't your bloody servants, we won't drop what we're doing and cook you a meal. Perhaps if Dudley is feeling generous he won't eat all of his second dinner. You might be able to finish it when we come home."

Harry rolled his eyes internally. The day Dudley didn't finish all of his food would be the day Harry became King of England. Honestly how could one person consume so much food in one day. He was sure he had never heard of seven square meals a day before despite it being a popular phrase in this household.

"Just don't go snooping for our food." The man blustered "We don't want to run up a huge electrical bill because the little freak couldn't tell that the fridge light was on."

Harry stiffened at the words. He had to pause and quell the onrush of emotion that flooded his body. Anger gripped his heart momentarily and he was treated to the phantom feeling of Vernon's pudgy neck beneath his hands. His fingers twitched as his body responded to the statement. Heat suffused him and his rationale was buried under the years of hate that had fermented inside of him.

Unaware of the raging conflict inside of the boy in front of him, Vernon continued to glare at his nephew.

"Its his fault." came out, barely a whisper.

"What was that?"

"It's his fault I can't see! Why should I have to eat his scraps!" Harry almost yelled as tears of anger and frustration prickled his eyes, threatening to run down his face.

Vernon's breath quickened as rage poured out of him. Moving surprisingly quickly for his size, he grasped the boy by his neck and slammed him up against the wall. "You listen here boy." His voice dangerously quiet, the word 'boy' spit out like the foulest curse word. Harry could picture his face perfectly in his mind, right eye twitching and face purpled with rage. "You stop those accusations right now. We don't need any rumors going about the neighborhood saying that the nasty little orphan was blinded by his family. Don't try try to blame us for you own stupidity!"

"Daddy I'm hungry!" came the call from the main hall interrupting Vernon's rant. His glare never left Harry. "Don't leave. Don't touch. Don't eat." He punctuated each statement with a powerful punch into Harry's stomach. Vernon lifted him up by his neck leaving him dangling in the air before slamming him back into the wall. Harry crumpled to the ground, a cloud of dust settling down on him. Once more he was enveloped in darkness as the door swung short.

As the heavy footsteps receded into the distance Harry slowly reined in the waves of anger emanating from his core, and submerged himself into an icy calm.

Harry had a brief respite before he was interrupted again by a burning lance of malice searing through his mind, a projection of such passionate hate it left a trail of broken thoughts and smoldering memories in its wake. Harry quickly left the cupboard, sinking his consciousness back into the depths of his mind. The lance's momentum had not lessened and it held strong as it blazed into his mind. Harry desperately backpedaled, leaving clusters of nonsensical daydreams and useless thoughts as fodder for the assault. The attack barreled through all of the mental debris and slammed into his hastily erected shields. The barrier proved useless as it shattered into shards that resounded painfully inside of his head. Pulses of agony traced the path between his temples and his eyes.

As he continued to use stalling tactics on the powerful onslaught, Harry focused on the periphery of his mind where he sensed enemy probes testing the path the mental spear had hacked through his defenses. He created a few floating mines, packages containing troubling puzzles and some of his more traumatic experiences disguised as important memories. He carefully released them out into the chaos of his mindscape where his opponent had been wrecking havoc on every available emotion, thought, or memory it could find hoping to disrupt them enough that he could dispel the attack.

A small nudge directed his attention to a probe that was testing his defenses. He swiftly and without hesitation severed its connection to its host and led it deeper into his mind. Harry was reminded of a cartoon he once saw when a character was led around by a carrot hung from a stick. The probe was baited deeper into what appeared to be his inner mind, never let to move too quickly, but fast enough enough to keep it interested in traveling through the passage he created. The probe got braver as its progress was not halted as it continued past his mental shields, assuming the original attack had disoriented Harry enough to miss its intrusion. When a second and third tendril tried to sneak into his mind they were immediately incinerated by a crushing wave of anger. The original scout paused at this but it was too late for it to turn back.

He blanketed it in a memory of him stealing some food from Petunia's garden and the rush of elation it gave him before jettisoning it out of his carefully constructed tunnel with no small amount of force. The rampaging fire in his mind quickly latched onto the fast moving memory sensing its positive association. It ate through the garden memory like an actual fire in Petunia's garden (she was awful at remembering to water them, and didn't let Harry do it after the previously mentioned incident) and reached the portion that contained a part of its own mind.

The sensation of incinerating one of ones own mental appendages is rather akin to waking up and noticing a strangers arm on you, but instead of moving it away you pour gasoline into your mouth, drop in a match, and attempt to chew off the offending limb. Then as you start, you realize that it was your arm and it was only numb from sleeping on it funny, but you don't stop even though it has now woken up and the nerves are functioning.

The mental shriek reverberated through Harry's mind almost breaking his concentration on his shields. The incursion faltered and the lingering mental extensions lying just outside of his mind backed off as his adversary tried to collect themselves. He slammed his outer mental walls shut and put his shields in place. The tendrils came back quickly and tried to squeeze back in through the gaps in his mental defenses. He made another wall using a hazy memory of flashing green lights and intense fear. The gambit worked better than he could have hoped as the intruders backed off radiating a type of confusion. This allowed him to calm his overworking mind and sink into a more tranquil state, which in turn sealed off his mind with a shimmering wall of calm determination.

The main force was now stuck in a prison of Harry's making. With its access to its creator tenuous, and its still being disoriented in a pain filled daze from its earlier blunder Harry focused in on it. It suddenly moved, attempting to penetrate as deep as it could before dissipating. Harry tried his hardest to keep it contained, allowing it to wear itself away on his walls which prevented it from doing any real damage. All of a sudden the lances of pain that had previously beat against his cranium abated as the attacking force dove directly into one of his more powerful traps.

It became stuck in a clever little paradox that he had created on one of his days long meditations in between meals that had became frequent after the world went dark. Instead of pausing for a second and exiting the thought or thinking around it, the mental spear pushed forward with singular determination intent on burning through it with pure power of thought. The attack was twisted in circles on itself as it pushed through the paths the thought created. Harry poised ready at the exterior waiting him to break through, but it seemed content to keep circling inside the thought convinced it would work its way through eventually.

Finally realizing its situation the attacker burst from the prison, but much weaker and robbed of all momentum. It fled wildly through his mind desperately trying to find an opening and led itself directly into another trap.

This trap was the most potent of any Harry had created over the years of mental warfare, and the first time that it had ever been activated. An emotion drawn from the past condensed into a single moment exploded into his adversary's mind as soon as he triggered the memory. A wave of crushing loneliness poured into the area, a sense of complete and utter solitude. Harry made his attacker feel they didn't have a single friend, any family, or acquaintances and the soul crushing weight of having years of no human contact but beatings and insults. Harry poured the sense of hollowness into his mind, sprung from the darkness he lived in.

The powerful emotion disoriented the attack and made it slowly unravel, leaving it vulnerable. Sensing their precarious hold on their mental probe start to falter, Harry's adversary drove the splinters of their force as deep as they could into Harry's mind before being completely forced from his mind. The last remnants of aggression sunk deep into his mind and his defenses proved little more than strainers, sifting out parts but letting most of the force through tiny cracks in his defenses. Exhausted by the battle and the powerful emotions he called upon Harry feebly swatted at the splinters with paper like barriers, slowing them down but being easily pierced.

A vibration resounded from his scar and Harry could feel a powerful well of energy gather behind it. When the mental shrapnel of the assault reached dangerously deep levels of Harry's psyche the scar retaliated. The ball of energy pushed from deep down in his core and exploded outwards like a supernova, expanding throughout his body and incinerating any remaining hostile particles. As quickly as it expanded the heat contracted back on itself, till it was noting more than a throbbing in his scar.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and fell back against his bed. His head throbbed horribly and he could hear his heartbeat as it shoved blood past his temples. When he reached up to touch his face he found it was covered in blood. He traced his fingers carefully across his features finding the sources of the bleeding. It had slowed to a trickle out of his nose and ears, barely moving. His eyes still bled, red streams pouring down his face like tears. His scar tinged painfully and he hissed loudly when he touched it. It had split again and added its own tribute to the blood dripping off of his face.

He settled back in and went over the spoils of his efforts. He couldn't remember a time when there wasn't attacks. They had became part of his routine. When he was younger he didn't know how to fight them. The mental spears pierced his brain and would have destroyed him but for his scar. Back then it was his scar versus the aggressor, after all of his recent memories had been destroyed and his emotions had been rearranged. His small amount of help, coming from his singular determination gave his scar the edge and it had always been successful in thwarting the assaults. He wasn't sure what his scar was but he knew it was powerful, and sometimes when he still maintained some of his focus through a battle he would notice startling similarities between it and the attacker.

As he got older he had learned more and more about the art of mental warfare, and was soon standing his ground against the attacks. However, as he got older and more skilled, so did his foe become more powerful. Every day they battled, always growing their power, always coming up with new strategies. Harry was always able to emerge victorious in the end because of the added edge of whatever was in his scar coming out and defending him whenever he was perilously close to failing.

Every weapon in the arsenal of of a mental warrior consisted of something, whether it be an emotion or memory. Harry was often able to pluck some of these from his enemy's mind after quelling an attack. Glimpses into their past, faces of old acquaintances, rushes of powerful emotions, and slowly he pieced together a picture of his adversary. The image most frequent in his mental burglaries was of a massive castle, resonating with ancient history and filled with people performing marvels on a daily basis.

He also witnessed clips of a childhood not dissimilar to his own, a boy friendless and bullied stuck in putrid nest of violence. He yearned for his own day when the old man would come and rescue him, drag him from his abyss and into a world of magic and adventure. Once he had asked Petunia about the castle and she had gone silent for complete minute before locking him in the cupboard for three days. He swore he had heard her crying outside the door. Hope had blossomed in his chest after Petunia's unintentional certification of its existence. He sunk his consciousness into the floating particles foreign to his mind, kept captive by his powerful shields. The sound of scales scraping against stone reverberated in his head. The scene quickly shifted and glowing lights streaked around him, shrapnel streaking past his ears. Screams pierced his eardrums, as the bodies in front of him writhed in agony.

Now he advanced through a doorway blasting everything out of his path.

He was late to class.

The man tried to stop him.

He knew the old man didn't trust him with his wary gaze following him about, laced with barbs of accusation.

A quick green flash and the man was removed from the earth.

As he sat down one of the girls near him sent him a wink.

The woman put up less fight than her husband.

She started following him as he left the classroom.

He advanced on the last living being in the building.

He went down the tunnel. She saw him. She mustn't know. No one can know.

Green eyes stared up at him.

_Kill._

_Kill._

* * *

Slowly and methodically Harry raised himself up into a sitting position on the bloody mattress. He felt rivulets of sweat trickle down his body gluing his shirt to his back. The cupboard was next to the furnace and had no air conditioning, creating sweltering temperatures inside hot enough to cook an egg. The house was silent. Harry listened careful for a few minutes but the peaceful silence continued uninterrupted. It was not uncommon for the Dursleys to stay out overnight without notice, deciding that not having to deal with him was a crucial part of a celebration.

Pulling himself into a standing position, Harry let out a deep sigh and sunk into an icy calm. His vision was still shrouded in an obsidian shroud, but faint outlines of his surroundings wavered in his mind. The world around him was displayed as vibrations in his mind, a phantom sense of what was around him. It was similar to the feeling of when someone is watching you from behind. You obviously didn't see the observer, but nevertheless you know they are there. When asked Harry couldn't tell you the color of the door or what pattern was engraved on it, but he could tell you exactly where it was and that it opened up into a hallway and exactly how many picture frames were on the left side.

Vernon hadn't bothered to lock the door again before he left, assuming Harry's blindness would prove an effective barrier to him leaving. Exiting the cramped prison, Harry was assaulted by some sort of large, agitated avian. It finally ceased its assault and perched on his shoulder, clenching painfully with its talons. A rustle of paper reached his ears and the sharp edge of an envelope poked into the side of his cheek. His hand grasped for a second before it finally closed on the package and pulled it from the talons holding it. He was given a quick bite on his ear before the bird took flight and soared off down the hallway.

The paper crinkled and opened with its own power, releasing a sheet of paper that stood hovering in front of his head. A monotone voice rang from the sheet, sounding as if it was talking from a distance and being squeezed through a small metal pole.

"Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.  
Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall (Deputy Headmistress)"

The paper spun in the air and started broadcasting from the opposite side. As Harry listened he realized that it was a supply list for a school year. "This is it!" He whispered to himself. He finally had gotten confirmation of the other world, the magical world he had dreamed of for years. The giddiness subsided momentarily as he came to a realization. 'The old man didn't come for me. Do they not do that anymore? How am I supposed to get robes and books?' He wondered. An image of a long street covered in garish displays appeared in his mind. An even scarier thought appeared in his mind. 'What if they don't know about my eyes. I can't write a letter and I don't have an owl. They won't let me into the school!' His breath got shorter and his chest heaved as the fear of losing this world so soon after gaining access gripped him.

His meltdown was interrupted when the letter started vibrating again. It started slowly revolving in place and he noticed an agitation of the air around it. He felt whispers of power wash against skin and he instinctively raised his shields. The tendrils wrapped around him but didn't attempt to enter his mind like the ones he was used to. Slowly they retracted back into the letter and it slowed its revolutions till it was still in the air infront of him.

"Grasp the paper tightly with both thumbs touching this face when you are willing to start." the metallic voice rang out at him. He quickly grabbed the sheet and pressed his thumbs into the paper. The magic returned and washed over his hands. "Name: Harry Potter. Status: Extreme solar retinopathy." There was a brief pause underscored by a whirring coming from the paper. "The chime signals the beginning of transcription. Say 'finish' when you are completed. Please state your response." There was a brief silence before the ring of a small bell sounded out.

"uh, hello Miss Headmistress." Harry stopped, feeling a bit ridiculous speaking to a piece of paper. "I accept the invitation but, uh, I don't know how to get the supplies for the school year. Could you send an instructor to come and show me how to get those things and how to get to the school? Sincerely Harry Potter. Finish" Another chime rang and the paper rolled itself up. The bird that had arrived with the letter flew back down the hallway, and snatched the letter out of Harry's hands. It made a startling quick turn and shot back past Harry, headed towards a window. The window burst open right before it was hit and the bird sailed out into the night.

Harry sunk back into his cupboard and laid down on his bloodstained mattress. Taking deep breaths he calmed his racing heart. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would finally enter the world he had been dreaming about for years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Cecity**

**Chapter Two**

If one was to walk down the street of Privet Drive, located in Little Whinging, you would be hard pressed to find yourself capable of sociable conversation regarding the surroundings. In fact, the town felt almost abnormal by how normal and completely unremarkable everything was, down to the duplicated boxy homes and the perfectly manicured lawns. You would expect to open any door and find a family reminiscent of an old television show. If one was to stop at number 4 Privet Drive and try to describe it, they might remark on how remarkably plain it was, or perhaps how neatly their garden was tended. If you asked someone inside Number 4 Privet Drive to describe their house they might use such descriptions as "The epicenter of an earthquake" or perhaps "Under assault from the whole bloody British army." These descriptions may have been influenced at the time, as it seemed one of their neighbors had mistaken the front door for their garage and was now trying to park in it. The banging from the door finally ceased and the swaying house calmed itself.

"Vernon what _was_ that?" One of the residents asked, her face pale as a sheet. In all fairness she was a particularly thin woman, so its effect was more pronounced on her than her other family who had the advantage of being biological anchors. Her question went unanswered as the sound of the doorknob shattering and the front door swinging open rang through the house. As they rushed into the main hall, the family was greeted by what appeared to be a bipedal bear that had just escaped from some sort of science lab, or so his great size would make you think. A pair of eyes appeared in the mass of hair upon his head and he leaned down so they could see his very much human face.

"Dursley?"

The response took a very long time in coming, as at first Vernon had mistaken the question for some sort of growl. "Yes, I am Vernon Dursley, and who are you to break into my house and destroy my door? I have half a mind to call the police this instant!"

"Good, I got the righ' house. Wouldn' want to go inter some other muggle's home. That woulda been a righ' mess to clean up, eh? His face break out into a wide smile and beamed at Vernon expectantly. Vernon's face grew redder and redder before adopting a rather unhealthy looking purple mottled look as he tried to puzzle through the statement and determine how grave an insult "muggle" was. The giant of a man continued, not noticing Vernon's ever increasing fury and deciding that the muggle was rather slow. "Is this little 'Arry then?" He asked as he bent down to observe the child hiding behind the two adults. The innocent seeming question finally snapped Vernon out of his rage induced trance by the sheer indignity the inquiry caused him.

"No it bloody well isn't! This is my son Dudley, and I would like you to kindly get the hell out of my house." His wife awoke from her own trance by her maternal instincts kicking in.

"Vernon! Don't use such foul language around little Dudders."

His glare quickly focused on her. "No! I wont have it Petunia. This man breaks into our house, damages our property, and all because of his unhealthy interest in our son who he calls the wrong name. I can say whatever the hell I want." Here he turns back to the invader in his home. "I want you at of my house right this instant or I'll call the police."

Vernon's bluster slightly faltered when the giants congenial face hardened. "Where's Harry?"

"I already told you, his name is _Dudley_. Now get out of my house!" Vernon's response was met with a wave from the Giants hand.

"I'm not tha' stupid, Dursley. I dropped 'em off when he was a baby. I know he's here." The giants eyes that once twinkled merrily had frozen, and now glared down at the small man like small chips of obsidian.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." Vernon maintained even as his body started quivering in fear. A huge, meaty hand grasped the front of his shirt and lifted him up off the ground, which is quite a remarkable feat considering his considerable size. "Where is Harry Potter?"

A quiet gasp came from Petunia. "You're one of _them_. You want him to go to that awful school." The accusation seemed to bring Hagrid back to his old affable self.

"Tha's right. Harry's been down for Hogwarts since he was born. Both his parents went there you know." He seemed to completely forget his previous mood. That was spoiled almost immediately by Vernon, who didn't seem to understand self-preservation.

"He's not going. I don't want to send him off to some freak show so that he can learn magic tricks to torment my family with."

"It's not up te you. Harry is goin' to go to Hogwarts whether you like it or not. Now tell me where he is before I decide to take action." His threat was punctuated by the waving of a small pink umbrella. Deciding not to risk whatever the giant was going to do with an umbrella, Vernon motioned behind him and mumbled something.

"Wha' was that?"

"The broom cupboard."

Vernon was set down roughly and nearly knocked over as the giant rushed past him. The cupboard door was ripped of its hinges and cast carelessly to the ground. He was met by the overwhelming stench of blood and urine as it rushed out of the room. The lone occupant was curled up on a dirty, bloodstained mattress that took up the entire floorspace the cupboard offered. He was carefully lifted out of the cramped space by arms as thick as his whole body.

The giant looked down on the small disheveled boy and let out a smile. He looked just like his dad. "'Ello there Harry, my name's Hagrid."

* * *

Harry was woken from his sleep by the sudden removal of his cupboard door. A massive pair of arms encircled him, and he felt himself carefully lifted from the small room and gently placed on two feet in front of the behemoth. Suddenly he spoke. Harry was stunned for a second, having not heard any other voice besides his families in years. The unfamiliarity created waves of excitement to wash down his back. Rubeus Hagrid. He knew that name. A glimpse of the castle appeared in his mind. His heart swelled in his chest.

"Are you from Hogwarts, Hagrid sir?" He inquired, barely holding in a gasp.

The giant of a man chuckled, a low rumbling pulse that Harry could feel reverberating in the air next to him. "I'm from Hogwarts alrigh'. No need for any 'sirs' now, just Hagrid will do for ye." Hagrid startled ruffling through his jacket, searching all of his pockets for some sort of lost item. Finally he seemed to find what he was looking for. Slowly, he removed a slightly squashed looking rectangle and held it out towards the boy. "Its not much an' I may have sat on it on the way, but for wha' its worth, Happy Birthday Harry." Harry stared at it incomprehensibly for a few seconds before realization dawned on him. It was a cake, more specifically a birthday cake, but more importantly a birthday cake for him.

"T-thank you Hagrid." Harry gave him a weak smile as tears collected in his ruined eyes. Hagrid once again remained ignorant towards the emotions of those opposite him and started stuffing the cake back into one of his many pockets.

"I'll hold onto it fer yeh, till you get a proper trunk to store it." Harry's murmured thanks almost went unheard. "Ah, don' worry abou' it." Hagrid waved his hand in front of him to ward of Harry's thanks. "Well, lets get going then."

"Are we going to Hogwarts?" Not even Hagrid could miss the wistful tone that colored the boys voice.

" 'Fraid not Harry. We'll be going to Diagon Alley to pick you up some school supplies. Wand and whatnot." At hearing they wouldn't be going to Hogwarts Harry had wilted, but he perked right back up at the mention of a wand."

"Will I be able to do magic with my wand.?"

Hagrid seemed to get a bit embarrassed at the question and shuffled a bit. "You won't learn any magic till you star' taking your classes up at Hogwarts, but it doesn' matter because you can't do any magic at home. Against the law, you know. Snap your wand in half if they find out." Here Hagrid unconsciously started fiddling with his umbrella.

"What if you're in danger and you need to use magic?"

"Well, I suppose it'll be alrigh' if its in self-defense." Harry heaved a sigh of relief. The pair left the hall and made their way past Harry's family. Vernon merely stared at the two, emanating pure rage that was only matched by the anger Petunia was radiating. Her ire was not aimed at a person, but rather the door and the castle of a school that lay behind it. Dudley sat behind his parents, gawking at Hagrid with absolutely no idea what was going on. As Hagrid squeezed through the doorway, Harry noticed that the door was not in its usual connected-to-the-wall spot and was now lying several feet away almost completely splintered. Harry froze in the doorway. Hagrid took several giant steps down the path before realizing his charge hadn't moved. "Well c'mon then, gotta leave the house if you wanna get a wand."

"I..." Harry struggled to relay the enormity of what Hagrid was asking. For the past years he had been confined to the darkness of his mind and the confines of his cupboard. He had forgotten what it was like to be outside and feel the real air hit your face and had only experienced a pale mockery when he lived through memories he fought for. He hadn't left the house in years, and wasn't sure he wanted to change that. What if his pseudo-vision that enabled him to traverse the home stemmed from his already present familiarity of it before the incident. It was quite possible the world would be truly dark outside the boundaries of the Dursley residence. However it was all proven moot when a meaty arm swept Harry out of the door and into the outside world.

* * *

So far his fears had been well founded. His basic perception of the world around him slowly deteriorated as they left the Dursley's till he could feel nothing around him, except for Hagrid's presence.

"Hagrid we have to go back. I can't see anything." Harry desperately turned towards the giant as anxiety twisted a knot in his chest. The longer he stayed in the dark the worse the feeling got. He felt as if he was being drawn in, a sense of drowning pervaded his senses as if he would be lost in it and never be able to crawl out.

"Ye get that from your father, no doubt. Blind as a bat he was, can't remember him being without his glasses. We'll get you a pair in Diagon Alley, they'll be sure to have some." Hagrid continued his progress despite the desperate child trying to push against him.

"No, no you don't understand. I _can't_ see. I-I'm blind."

"I'm telling you tha' all ye need is a good pair of glasses. There are other ways of fixing your eyes if ye don't like glasses. My old friend Moody got a whole magical eye put in his head. Really creepy tha' is though, don't think you wan' it done. Never looks at the same place as the other eye ye see, can even look through walls and the like." Hagrid let out an involuntary shiver at the memory.

"They can make whole eyes?" Harry questioned.

"Well, I suppose, but I should think tha' you'd rather just get some glasses. Anyway, we 'ave reached the edge of magical Britain."

The blurry smear of landscape suddenly focused and a large object not dissimilar from the Dursley's house became apparent to him. Hagrid led him through a door and the world exploded into life around him. The previous absence of visual information only emphasized the new surplus of images entering his mind. His momentary falter in the entrance to the building was due not only to the reinstatement of his vision but also the clarity of the pictures he was seeing. In the Dursley's home he understood only a brief outline of his surroundings coupled with a previous knowledge of the house that allowed him to navigate. Here in this new magical world he saw much more than small vibrations indicating where walls where. He knew that there was a man standing behind the bar a couple feet away from him, but he also knew how large that man was and what his haircut was. Harry stood frozen in the door frame, gazing in wonderment at all the people crowding in what he had figured out to be a pub of some sort.

Harry was pulled from his stupor by a voice calling to him from a table directly next to him. "Excuse me dear, would you mind shutting that door. That breeze is cutting right through my old cloak's warming charm." Harry instinctively closed the door and turned to the woman awaiting further instruction, an instinct drilled into him by years of fearful obedience. His face was brought into the flickering light of the torches fastened to the walls, and the woman gave a start of recognition. "Is it really you child?" She reached out gingerly, her fingers grasping for his face.

Harry took a quick step back and her hand wavered feebly in the air. "I don't think I am. I'm sorry." He replied with a forced smile.

"Yes, yes you are probably right. No one has seen him since he was a baby, it might be too much to ask that he'll just show up at the Cauldron someday. But I'm here every day always with hope that I'll meet him, and then I can say thank you."

"Who are you waiting for? If I ever meet them I'll tell them to come here." Harry offered.

"You'll have heard of him no doubt. Lower chance of you not have then my finding him. I'm waiting for our savior. The Boy Who Lived, little Harry Potter."

"How do you know my name?" It was out before Harry even understood what she had said. There was a momentary pause as he realized what she said and as she worked her way through his inadvertent confession. This time she moved quicker than Harry was able to respond, and his hair was pulled away from his forehead to reveal his scar.

"My heavens... it is you. I've finally found you!" The old witch seemed to find a well of energy as she leapt up from her table. She grasped his hands with both of hers and shook them vigorously. "Thank you Harry Potter, thank you. My boy was an auror you see. He died halfway through the war. That bastard tore through the wards like they were paper. Wasn't the crafter's fault really, nothing seemed to be able to stop him. Not till you. Just a year old and you stopped him right dead." She became choked with emotion and her speech trailed off into silence as she kept shaking his hand. The sudden outbreak of emotion in the previously placid pub drew the attention of the normally disinterested patrons.

A man who had been sitting at the table next to the old witches had apparently heard parts of the conversation and rose to address Harry. "Is it true? You're Harry Potter?" The man's question was backed with an unyielding steel gaze daring Harry to answer falsely.

"I-I guess I am. I don't know of killing any evil people but you seem to know my name and my scar."

His answer prompted a mass rush, as all the members of the building closed in on him, all seemingly eager to shake his hand and offer profuse thanks for actions he couldn't remember. Hagrid was drawn from his conversation with the barkeep as he finally noticed the mass of people approaching Harry."

"Alrigh' that's enough. Give the poor boy some space." Hagrids large mass displaced most of the people as he waded into the crowd. Easily breaking through the front line, he got in front of Harry and used his body as a buffer. "We need to be headin' to Diagon Alley now, you've all had your chance to see him." Putting a hand on each of Harry's shoulders he pushed them through the crowd and into an alley behind the pub. Hagrid took out his umbrella and tapped on what appeared to be a random part of the wall. The previously solid wall rippled like water, extending from the point of Hagrid's umbrella. The bricks slowly slid apart, gliding back into the sides of the alley and revealing the spectacle behind them.

A wide street stretched out in front of them as far as Harry could sense, lined with bustling hubs of activity. He was pulled out into the crowd as Hagrid surged forward. "We'll be goin' to Gringotts first to pick up some galleons for yeh."

"What's a galleon?"

Hagrid's hand snapped up to his head. "Oh, tha's rights you lived with muggles. You probably have no clue about any o' this wizarding stuff. Well, a galleon is wizard money. There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon, and 29 Knuts in a Sickle. I don't know how much that is in muggle money."

"If everyone can do magic why do you need money?" Hagrid cocked his head to the side and remained silent for a few steps. Well, a few for Hagrid. This translated to quite a few for Harry. He used the break in conversation to try to observe as much as detail of the magical surroundings as he was permitted by his vision.

"Tha's a tough one. I'm sure you'll learn all abou' that at Hogwarts. Didn't quite finish my studies there you know, so I'm not the best to ask. I suppose that's why we need money. Not everybody knows everything. You may study for the rest of yer life but never learn how to make a broom. If yeh want a broom then you need to pay a fella who does know how. There are limits to yer magic. You can't always wave your wand and make everythin' better. For example, you cant make your own food. Not quite sure why, but I know tha' you can't." Harry nodded and accepted the explanation, before another question entered his mind.

"Why couldn't you use magic to make tons of money? Surely you can make copies of things?"

Hagrid frowned and looked away. "Never really thought of tha' before. I suppose there is something about 'em that means you can't copy more. Somethin' to do with them being goblin made."

"They're made by goblins? Goblin's are real?"

Hagrid chuckled at his exuberance. "Never met somebody so excited about goblins before. Nasty little creatures they are, not even I can like them." Harry decided to ignore whatever that meant. "The goblins run the wizarding bank. They produce all of the money and they store it all for wizards in their cave vaults. Extremely greedy creatures they are, kill their own parents for half a sickle. They hate wizards too, always having these big uprisings."

Harry turned a bit pale at this. "B-But we're going to a bank. Are they're going to be goblins?"

"O' lots. They control all the British vaults. They won't harm yeh, don't worry. Just don't expect a big welcome. They'll bear you being there just as long as it takes. Jus' don't waste their time."

Harry became aware of the looming building that was increasingly seeming like their intended destination. The massive building towered over the neighboring shops and cast a long shadow over the steps before it. Two miniscule figures stood at attention at the doorway, maintaining an air of indifference that was hampered by the glares they gave every human that entered the doors they guarded.

* * *

Harry stepped out onto the marble steps and swayed gently before finding purchase and continuing down the steps, stumbling like a drunkard. "I never did get used to that, and I never will. I hate that bloody cart. Yer da' though, he loved to come to Gringotts. 'Almost as good as a broom' he used to say." Hagrid followed behind Harry at a more sedate pace with a queasy look on his face.

"Do you have to do that every time you go to the bank?" Harry asked, giving the building a glare.

"As much as I don' like it, I still appreciate it. They keep our money locked up so tight in those caves that there hasn't been one person who stole a single knut from the goblins. I'll take that cart ride than having me money stolen." Harry nodded in agreement.

"Where are we going next?" Harry asked, the terrifying journey already forgotten in his excitement.

"Well, now we have to go get yer things fer school. Whatd'd ye want to get first? Yeh need books, robes, potion ingredients, yer wand, so-"

"Could we get the wand first? Please Hagrid."

"I s'ppose we could. Usually yeh get that last but it doesn't really matter. Off to Ollivander then." Harry set off with the giant quivering in excitement. He had dreamed of this moment for years. Soon he would have his magic wand and then everything could be fixed. His eyes would be healed and he would no longer wallow in a darkness. The Dursleys would no longer be able to hurt him. No one will hurt him ever again.

The shop glowed like a beacon, illuminating the surrounding buildings with its blinding luminescence. As they entered the store Harry was greeted by the sight of rows upon rows of slim boxes stacked next to each other, lining the store walls and stretching far back into its depths. A slim figure detached itself from the shadows of the store and moved swiftly over to greet the customers. His face was far from the faint shadows Harry was accustomed to at the Dursleys. There was a bright sheen on his face clearly illuminating the smallest features on his face. He was by far the oldest man Harry had ever seen. The face was pockmarked by age, and unkempt white hair hovered over his wrinkled forehead. The eyes sunken deep into their sockets shone with an intelligent gleam revealing a quick and powerful intelligence.

"Why, Harry Potter if I'm not mistaken." The man paused as if to let Harry answer, though he doubted that it was really a question. Harry had an eerie feeling that the man knew who he was before before he had seen his face. The eyes moved sharply in their sockets, scouring Harry's form with their gaze. Harry heard mumbled words leave his lips that sounded like measurements.

"'ello Ollivander. Came here to pick up Harry's wand." Ollivander's gaze tore itself away from Harry to peer up at the giant.

"Hmmm, oak, 16 inch was it not?"

"That it was." Once again Harry doubted that the old man needed confirmation.

"Clumsy thing that was, sooner smash a teacup than transfigure it. It had power though, real power. Pity they snapped it. I hate that practice, always breaking such magnificent pieces of work." Ollivander shook his head as he started rummaging around on some of the shelves lining the store.

"Potter, Potter, Potter. Born from eleven inch mahogany and 10-and-a-quarter willow." Ollivander swung his hand haphazardly and rolls of measuring tape leapt from their positions and started wrapping around Harry. "No Ollivander wand is the same, and no wizard will ever receive the same results from another wizard's wand. So, Mr. Potter, what we are doing now is trying to find the wand that will work the best for you and only you. How about this one, beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches, nice and flexible." Harry took the wand in his wand and waited for something to happen. After he a few seconds he began to feel a bit foolish.

"Don't just stand there Mr. Potter, give it a wave." Harry began a sweeping motion but the wand was snatched from his hand almost immediately by the storekeeper. "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches and whippy."

Once more the wand had barely moved before it was removed and another was stuck into his grasp. "No that's not it. No, no, not that either. Try ebony and unicorn hair, eight inches." Once more the waving of the wand produced no more results. Instead of getting frustrated the elderly man was becoming more and more excited. Harry however, was beginning to feel a bit nervous. A pit of fear began to grow in his stomach as the pile of wands that were rejected grew beside him.

"That would be interesting..." Ollivander mumbled before handing Harry another wand. "Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches, nice and supple."

As soon as his finger twisted around the grain of the wand Harry became aware of a deviation from the previous attempts. A tightness in his chest he was never aware of previously loosened, and a wave of warmth rocketed through his body. He became aware of it pooling behind his eyes and the ever present ache slowly receded into the background. As he moved his hand a wave of glowing red and gold sparks streamed from the tip of his wand illuminating the room. The pool of warmth behind his eyes was growing larger and larger, with its temperature mirroring its size. Suddenly, it crashed through his mental barriers like an eruption. Every obstacle he placed in the way was anticipated before he had fully created it. The attack burrowed deeper and deeper into his head before suddenly sharpening into a slim lance of power and slamming into the shields of Harry's scar. With a start he realized that his scar was the target of the attack.

The warmth entering his body had not stooped in its flood. The once comfortable, relaxing heat had turned into a roiling inferno burning up his insides. The current flowed into his body and traveled up into his head and into his scar. Whatever sentience occupied the mark refused to surrender. It fought back with bursts of icy power, driving off the encroaching energy. A slim band of intelligence broke off from the scar, flowing through its enemies like oil. It coiled through his body before entering his hand and pressing against the wand it was holding.

Despite the battle raging inside of him, Harry could feel the link form between his scar and the wand. Somehow there was a degree of familiarity between the two. He was still only halfway through his wave and Hagrid and Ollivander remained unaware of the conflict beside them. The scar pulsated with newfound power, and retaliated towards the heat. Waves of power crashed against each other, each one sending daggers of pain through Harry's head.

The trail of sparks grew larger and larger before morphing into a stream of scalding flames that rocketed out for twenty feet in front of Harry. His scar burst and a stream of blood poured down his forehead. His eyes were in agony, as more and more blistering heat grew behind them. Liquid pooled in his eyes and poured down his cheeks. Harry wasn't sure if they were tears or blood, or perhaps a mixture of both.

The conflict reached its zenith and both sides pushed against each other with all of their capacity. It felt like a bomb went off in his head, and Harry leaned back and let out a scream. His wand bucked and released a glowing beam of ruby that splashed against the roof of the store. The ceiling detonated and the trio were thrown off their feet as debris rained down.

Harry lay on the cool wood floor and watched as glowing bits of wreckage floating down to the floor. Having spent all of their effort, the two sides in his head quieted as he slipped into unconsciousness. Harry smiled in relief as he drifted off under the dancing orange glow of burning rubble. 'I am a wizard.'


End file.
